John Sladek - The Complete Roderick

‘No foolin’?’ A theatrical sneer. ‘Look, can we talk here?’

‘Why not?’ Jane Hannah needed at least two more martinis before she could face her son, and if this absurd stranger wanted to fill the interval with chatter, olives going out of style, well why not?

‘Usually I work alone,’ he said. ‘I run a one-man show.’

‘Indeed?’ Show-business, a rodeo perhaps. It seemed to explain his outlandish clothes, the showy ring, the stock villain’s sneer. What did he want, money?

‘But I guess if you wanted to back my play—’

She put up a hand. ‘You’re wasting your time. I don’t contribute to — no thanks. “…I’m no angel…”, as the saying goes.’

‘Good enough.’ He seemed unruffled. ‘Good enough. Fact is, I get a lot of satisfaction out of workin’ alone, you know? Boy, when you see their faces — when they realize what’s comin’ off—’ He chuckled. ‘Makes it all worth while.’

‘I’ll bet. But do you usually see their faces? I thought—’

Even when you don’t, you still know what they’re thinkin’. Boy howdy! It’s like real communication! I mean in everyday life you just never get that close to nobody. Real communication.’

‘I know just what you mean,’ she said. Nice to meet someone who liked his work, even if he did carry the offstage villainy too far. Just now he was casting a furtive glance over his shoulder, where the bearded boy was propped up by the girl in orange. Allbright, his chin sinking towards the table, told Dora, ‘Funny thing is, I met him just the other day. On the Mall.’

‘Met who?’

‘This kid I was just telling you about. Danny. The Bugleboy—’

‘But that was half an hour ago — are you all right?’

‘No but listen, listen, he’s still crazy he — I asked if he was still in computers and he sort of grinned and said, “Into, yes, yes, yes, you could say that, into computers, yes, yes…’”

‘I don’t know why you take that stuff and drink on top—’

‘Yes yes, nodding and grinning like a fucking guru computer got all the answers yes yes… only he’s dead inside, ghost in the machine you know even his kid he even his kid he…’

He came to rest with his ear in the ashtray, while the man in the hunting cap looked over and turned away to his drink, muttering, ‘College boys! College boys!’

A tiresome boy declared himself once more a Manichee to the girl in the leg-cast, who nodded, though listening to someone else explain how Lady Godiva invented the rosary. The juke box, now muffled by the wall of bodies, sang:

Dr Hannah raised her glass to toast the departing O’Smith.

‘Break a leg,’ she said.

He winked. ‘For you, anything.’ He pushed through the crowd and out into the night, which was nearly as dark and empty as the piano bar on the other side of town where two short-haired men waited to meet someone called O’Smith.

Allbright slept on while Dora kept watch. Suddenly he sat up, rubbing at the ash on his cheek. ‘He looked burned out, coke or, I don’t know, burned out. What was I — oh yeah, he’s got a kid, Roderick, he even treats him like a damned machine.’

‘Is this still Bugleboy?’

‘Yeah listen, he was carrying this doll, I asked him if he had any kids, he said, Just Roderick. “Oh, this?” he says, holding up the doll. “It’s for testing Roderick. Testing his pattern-recognition threshold.” Might have been talking about a goddamned piece of equipment, you know? Cold, cold and — so when I asked how old the boy was, what do you think? He said, “Doesn’t matter. I’m getting rid of him”.’

‘What did he mean, getting rid—’

‘Wants to ship him off to some foster home, even asked me for an address.’ He picked at his beard absent-mindedly, disentangling a cigarette butt. ‘Felt like telling him to ask his computer pals if he wants a favour, only — what’s that cop doing in here?’

A campus patrolman stood by the door, looking around, while the crowd parted to let him through. Out of habit, one or two people dropped things on the floor. Finally the lawman saw Dr Hannah’s white hair and came over to her.

‘Mrs Hannah? Mrs Jane Hannah?’

‘Doctor Hannah, if you don’t mind.’

Awkwardly he bent and whispered to her that her son was dead. Awkwardly he supported her as she rose and wobbled to the door, blind to faces turning with momentary curiosity, deaf to the thumping of the juke box…

The man in the hunting cap (its flaps erect as the ears of a fox terrier) clutched his glass for support and muttered, ‘College boys! B.S., M.S., Ph.D., haw haw haw, stands for…’

Allbright said, ‘So I gave him the address. Friends of mine out West, they’re into the environment. Figured they couldn’t be worse parents than him. Jesus, he doesn’t even care about that kid, doesn’t even all he wanted was some address, stick an addressograph label on the kid and ship him out, not even human himself, just a ghost in a machine all burned out, coked out…’

‘Allbright? Let’s split, you look tired.’

‘Take William Burroughs, inventor of the adding machine, know what he says? Or I mean inventor of the soft machine, know what he says?’

She helped him to his feet while his free hand started flailing, ‘And I quote: “The study of thinking machines teaches us more about the brain than we can ever learn by introspective methods.” Did you know that?’

The crowd parted as it usually does for wild drunks, policemen and other dangers; Allbright continued flailing as they made the door. ‘“The C-charged brain is a berserk pinball machine, flashing blue and pink lights in electric orgasm.” Did you know that?’

Outside in the purple evening he paused to smash his fist into a wall.

‘Stop! Allbright, stop — why do you hate yourself so much? Why can’t you just — stop that!’

‘…burned out, a ghost burning in a machine, the lights all going out, zzzzt, let me out of here. Let me out of here!’

‘We are out, outside. Come on.’

He slumped down. ‘Safer here,’ and slept while she kept watch. The sky blazed with stars, brighter and more disturbing than the imitation sky in Bernie’s Piano Bar (across town), where two others were giving up their watch.

‘What we get depending on outsiders, he’s not gonna show.’

‘We could of handled it ourselves.’

‘Try telling that to the brass.’

The aged pianist had been gently chiding them for an hour for not joining in with the others around the piano. Now, looking directly at them, he said, ‘Come on everybody. Don’t be shy!’

Reluctantly they added their voices to the quavering chorus:

The Shah would trove this memory, would he not? An aerial view of the entire campus, greening with Spring, looking so like one of those clever little silicon chips he was forever reading about. Yes, the clean square buildings represented the little transistors and things, while the roads and footpaths represented the — the other parts. It was even possible to think of the students crawling about down there as information to be progressed, processed rather. He desired strongly that his only son should be processed in a place such as this. But now it was time to put by such thoughts, and concentrate on the tedious task at hand; already his chopper was settling like a golden dragonfly atop the — he checked a map — the Admin building.